Newsworthy
by SmithsonianGirl
Summary: Jack, the best friend. David, the perfect match. Spot, the diaster waiting to happen. Denton, the gentlemen. One of them will get the girl, Jody Forrester- but little do they know that she's from the future, and her best friend Justin is coming for her.
1. Title Page

**Newsworthy**

a Newsies fanfiction by SmithsonianGirl

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**Vital Statistics**

[started on: January 18, 2010]

[finished on: not yet complete]

[genre: romance/mystery]

[characters: Jack, David, Sarah, Spot, Denton]

[pairings: multiple, ultimately Denton/Jody]

**Summary**

Jack, the best friend. David, the perfect match. Spot, the diaster waiting to happen. Denton, the gentlemen. One of them will get the girl, Jody Forrester- but little do they know that she's from the future, and that her best friend Justin is coming for her.

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**Rave Reviews**

"I clicked on this story expecting it to be an average run of the mill Mary Sue story, but I'm thrilled to say it's not ... The descriptions of the Jacobs family life was wonderful and well written. I wish more people would write about them this way ... Many authors forget Newsies took place in the Victorian era, which meant it isn't an exciting time for girls. You addressed it so well through the different characters." - pen 'n notebook

"I just have to say how different this time travel story is from other stories. It's more original." - AwkwardQuail

"I love the whole will idea, it's very interesting. Not too many Denton fics out there either, especially not with OC's. Kinda nice to see something a bit different!" - CES5410

"I love the originality of your ideas! Most time-travel Newsies fics are horribly written and planned out, but this one is so fresh, I love it!" - Skitts Girl

"The plot itself is extremely interesting and has that certain original twist that is so rare these days. I love the idea of the pairing, too ... I eagerly await a new chapter like I have not in some time. My hat is off to you." - RedKAddict


	2. 28th of May, 2031

**28th of May, 2031.**

It was the worst possible time for the phone to ring—yet it did just that. That should have been his first clue that other forces were at play, be it Fate, or God, or Allah, or some unnamed higher power. Perhaps it was even Karma. But in any case, the phone rang when he was disinclined to answer it; and not only that, but when the phone rang, it was the single most important call in his entire life. Of course, he didn't know that at the time. To him, it was just an inconvenient call. Hell, Justin was already running late, and the girl he was supposed to meet—his girlfriend of two months, Dawn—wasn't one to let anything slide. She doesn't put up with any nonsense, Justin grimly reminded himself as he jammed his right foot into his dress shoe. And while he should have let the phone keep ringing and have the person leave a message on the machine, Justin, for some inexplicable reason, answered. He didn't know why he did because really, it was a stupid thing to do. He had a date to pick up and a reservation at a fancy restaurant that only allowed a twenty minute window, and he was already running dangerously late.

"Hello?" Justin said into the receiver, checking the watch he was holding. Fumbling with the band, trying to wrap it around his wrist, he grumbled a sigh into the phone, then cringed, hoping it hadn't been loud enough for the person to hear, and gave up. He'd allow five minutes to talk before hanging up the phone. That way he'd still get Dawn's house in time to get to the restaurant. She'd be angry, very angry, but at least they wouldn't lose the reservation. That was all that really mattered, wasn't it? She'd enjoy the dinner and the wine, quickly forgetting how he'd almost ruined their date night.

"Excuse me, is this Justin Livingston?" a perky female voice said, her voice clicking mechanically through the speaker.

"Uh, yeah, it is. Listen, I'm kind of running late so if you don't mind…" Justin replied, tucking the phone under his chin as he struggled to do his tie. Glancing at his reflection in the window, he straightened the knot so that the tie hung straight. It wasn't as good a knot as the ones his ex-wife made, but for a single man, it wasn't so terrible. He hadn't married the women for her tie-knotting skills, after all.

The woman on the line huffed and Justin could hear her tapping a pen on a desk. Great, a business call. He'd never get this wrapped up in time. Perhaps if he just strategically hung up, made it sound like a dropped call? No—Justin shook his head. He wasn't a teenager anymore.

"I'm the secretary for Mr. Roger Bloom of New York Legal Associates," the woman said. "He handles wills, as well as other things of the same legal nature, and he's asked me to inform you that you've been named in one of the wills he's managed."

Justin straightened up, taking the receiver in his hand. "I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong person. I don't have any relatives in New York."

"Are you Justin Livingston, currently residing at five-thirty-one Wilson Street, New Bedford, Massachusetts?" the secretary pressed. A shuffle of papers on her end made it sound like she had been reading his address from a document.

"Yes, I am," Justin told her, "but you must be looking for another person. I don't know anyone in New York. I'm, you know, from Massachusetts."

The woman on the phone sighed. "I'm aware of that fact, as it's here in the file. But you're definitely the Justin Livingston we're looking for. Now, this is partially confidential at the moment, but I've been given authorization to inform you that you've been named the sole beneficiary of a certain Jody Denton, maiden name Jody Forrester."

Justin froze when he heard the name and checked his watch again. He could still get Dawn to the restaurant if he left now, but if the phone call was about Jody… at that moment, Justin realized that he had been waiting for this call for years. He had never really gotten over her disappearance twenty-two years prior; he still felt responsible, and had still kept hope that she'd appear again. Now it seemed that some information had come out about her. "Did you say Jody Forrester?" he asked breathlessly. At last, his chance to find her, or at least to learn about what happened to her. How could he put the opportunity aside for a lousy but expensive meal with a demanding girlfriend?

"Mm-hm," the secretary verified. "And we've researched the records; she was born in 1990 in New Bedford, Massachusetts. She's the same girl who went missing twenty-two years ago."

"Did you say that she was married?"

The woman ruffled some papers, although Justin could barely hear it. "Well, we assumed so, based on the will. But Jody Denton's been deceased for many years now; we've only just read the will because it's been passed down through the Denton family. The last of the line has only just passed away."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," Justin replied.

"No sorry is necessary; this is just a business. Now, your name has been clearly mentioned in the Denton will, so we'll need you to come up to New York to process it. When can you get on a plane?"

Justin swallowed and looked at his watch again. It was now or never. "I can go to the airport right away. What's the address of your office?" He got out a piece of paper and pen from his the drawer of his nightstand while the woman recited the number and street name to him. "Thank you very much, I'll stop by shortly. Bye," he said into the receiver before hanging up. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, dialing Dawn's phone number with his eyes closed. He wasn't too serious about her anyway, Justin reminded himself. They were both coming fresh out of their respective divorces and well, he didn't absolutely need a relationship right now. This lead was just too important. Jody had been the only steady girlfriend he had ever had besides his ex-wife, and his closest friend; they had grown up together. Then she went missing, from his party no less and he had never forgiven himself. He had always thought that something odd must have happened for Jody to disappear into thin air, and now he had a chance to solve the mystery.

"Dawn? I'm really sorry, but I have to cancel on you. Some matters came up and I have to fly out to New York City tonight. Why don't you take Lizzie to the restaurant instead? I'll make it up to you later, I promise," Justin said into the phone. He didn't listen to the stream of questions and comments that Dawn threw at him, just hung up the phone. Then he grabbed his keys and went to the garage, where he hopped into his car and set the GPS for the T.F. Green Airport in neighboring Rhode Island.

A short flight but several hours later, Justin was exiting LaGuardia International Airport and hailing a taxi. It was around seven in the morning, as he had gotten to Green at around eight the night before and had to wait for the next flight, which wasn't until after midnight. Then there was the flight itself, and the trip through security… but here he was, giving the address of a legal company to the driver of the taxi cab and on the way to figuring out Jody's disappearance.

The company turned out to be a massive skyscraper, one with probably over a hundred floors. Justin paid the driver and gave him a substantial tip before pushing through the heavy revolving door. Inside the building, he went up to the main desk and requested the office for Roger Bloom. The woman at the desk directed him to the elevators and instructed him to go to the seventeenth floor.

When he stepped into Roger Bloom's office, Justin found himself caught in a flurry of activity. Bloom's fellow lawyers and underlings were all busy directing teary-eyed white-haired widows to different offices where they could read the wills in privacy. Another huge desk took up one whole wall of the office where three secretaries were typing on computers and answering phones. Justin walked up to the middle one and smiled charmingly, waiting patiently until the secretary was off the phone.

"Hello, how may I help you?" the woman politely asked. It was the same woman who Justin had talked to over the phone.

"Hi, we spoke over the phone yesterday. I'm Justin Livingston."

The secretary's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, come with me. Mr. Bloom will take you straightaway. He's very curious about this will," she said conspiringly, leaving the desk and gesturing for Justin to follow her down the carpeted hallway. At the very end was a huge oak door, which she knocked on and then opened. "Mr. Bloom, Justin Livingston is here to see you." She then stepped out of the way and let Justin inside, closing the door behind him.

Roger Bloom, a tall and well-dressed lawyer with sharp gray eyes, sat behind his mahogany desk in a huge, cushy chair. "Ah, Mr. Livingston!" he greeted, leaning forward onto his desk blotter, pushing some paperwork out of the way with his elbow. An important looking folder sat on the right of his desk, and a moving box stood on the floor and was labeled 'Denton.' "I was hoping to see you soon. Please, have a seat."

Justin crossed the room and sat in one of the two large, plush armchairs that faced the desk. "I must admit that I'm a bit skeptical about this will," Justin began after shaking Bloom's hand. "Jody Forrester was a close friend of mine, and I've pretty much given up all hope of finding her again. And then your secretary called to say that you've received a will with my name as the sole beneficiary, and that the person's maiden name was Jody Forrester. Although how that's possible, I have no idea."

Bloom nodded and opened the folder, thumbing through its contents. "Yes, that is what we found odd about this case. And I daresay we have had many strange wills, but nothing like this. Shall I begin?"

Justin nodded. "Please do," he said politely.

"This will is that of Mrs. Jody Denton, deceased the third of January, 1939. As the signature dictates, she was of sound health and mind upon signing this document. All her monies and property, including the historic New York Sun office, have been left to Justin Livingston, to be born the eighteenth of September, 1990." The lawyer looked up from the folder, his bushy eyebrows knit together thoughtfully. "That's what is so odd about this will, Mr. Livingston. How was Jody Denton, a woman who died in 1939, able to leave her property to you and be fully accurate with your birth date?"

Justin shifted in his seat, equally puzzled. "I have no idea, Mr. Bloom. This doesn't make any sense at all."

Bloom waited for Justin to elaborate, but when he didn't, he simply opened the box, taking out a thick leather-bound journal. "Perhaps you should read this. From what my secretary and I have seen, it's Jody Denton's journal. Maybe it will make sense to you."

Justin reached out and took the journal, running his fingers over the well-worn leather. It was definitely old; as he cracked it open, he saw that the pages were faded and yellow, making a trademark sound as he turned the pages. The journal was written in ballpoint pen, and Justin's stomach clenched when he saw the handwriting. It was handwriting that he knew very well—he had seen Jody write her homework in that hand, and he had received letters in the mail in this handwriting.

Justin swallowed a lump in his throat and looked back up at Bloom, who looked very curious about the journal and its contents, but unwilling to pry no matter the extent of his curiosity. "May I take this and leave?" Justin asked the lawyer, his voice choking.

Bloom nodded, holding out a form and pen. "Just sign here," he instructed. Justin took the pen and shakily signed the release form before standing up and shaking Bloom's hand again.

"Pleasure to do business with you," he said as he left the office.

As he headed to the elevator, the secretary studied him very carefully. She didn't ask him about the journal, though, because the office had a policy about that. Instead she just watched him leave, waving when he nodded his head at her in goodbye.

Once in the elevator, Justin pressed the button that turned it off and suspended the elevator between two floors. Now he could read the journal in peace, and figure out what exactly had happened to Jody. Somehow she had gotten herself into a mess—that much was evident if she had disappeared from 2009 and ended up in the 1900s. Not that it was possible, of course. But somehow, the impossible had become possible.

Opening the journal again, Justin ran his fingers over the deep creases the pen had made on the paper, chuckling slightly as he imagined Jody writing these words. She always pressed so deeply. When they were younger, Justin had joked that it was because she wanted to leave her imprint. Maybe she finally did.

Rubbing the first indent on the page, Justin began to read.

"_These things always start with an introduction—preface, sorry, I should probably use the proper and more dignified term for it. I figured that I should write one, if only to gather my thoughts before taking on this mammoth task of writing down exactly what happened to me. It's such a fantastical story that I still can't quite believe it, even though I've already accepted it. Maybe I'll never fully believe it. I accepted it quickly, though, because I had to. If we can't adapt, we can't do anything… we can't live, we can't think, we can't survive. Is my story one of survival? On one level, it is—I survived an incredible shift in surroundings. But I think my story's more that of the romance genre, as I unofficially became the stupid woman who is a slut, but not a slut because she's the main character."_

_"Ignore that line. Bryan saw me write it down and he wasn't pleased—told me that it's not necessarily true. I love how he said 'not necessarily.' At least we both admit it… but that's a tangent. You'll understand soon enough."_

"_My story is truly an adventure… a dramatic, swashbuckling adventure, minus the pirates. I know you've always wanted to be a writer, Justin, and if you're in need of inspiration… take artistic license with my story. It has quite the plot, and you know me so well that I may as well be one of your characters. Write my story, get it published, become that author you really are. Let me live on in memoriam that way. It's not like anyone except for you will know the truth of the story."_

"_As I'm writing this, I'm pretending that I'm talking to you, Justin. How I miss your voice; your eyes; your goofy smile. Oh God, I haven't seen you in so many years and I never will again. But I can still remember your mannerisms, and as I write I can picture your replies. It's not the same, but it's good enough. Memory is good enough, when it's all you have."_

"_When this began, I was really scared—and I want you to know that. I didn't know where (or when) I was, and I didn't know how to get home. But I found friends, and everything got better. I had to go with the flow, and soon enough I wasn't just going with the flow; I really belonged in my surroundings. It was a subtle shift in my identity that I also missed it. One day, I wasn't Jody Forrester of the twenty-first century anymore. I don't regret it—any of it."_

"_I'm happy now, and I want you to know that too. I have a home. I have friends. I have Bryan now, although it was a little bit rough for us at first. I had you, and now I have my memories of you. I got to see two different worlds—time does make societies feel like they belong to different planets—and I got to have a nice life in each. This might have been a curse at first, but now it's simply a blessing."_

"_I must have a guardian angel or a fairy god-mother… something. Oh, well, I guess that would be Mark Walworth. He does have the magic bit, but he's not a fairy and not my god-mother. Perhaps he's just what he said he was, a Wiccan doing his good deed to be fully welcomed into his coven as a witch—sending me, a random stranger, to where I truly belonged. I hated him at first—I was scared of him, and furious for his interference in my life—but now, I respect him. He gave me my home."_

"_When you read this, you need to be open-minded. You also need to be sitting down and have a bottle of Tylenol with you, because if there's one thing I know for certain, it's that my tiny scrawl will give you a headache if you read it for too long."_

"_Lots of love, Jody Forrester Denton."_

Justin looked up from the journal, studying the ceiling of the elevator. His eyes immediately located the emergency exit panel, though God knows why. "Shit, Jody," Justin swore, "what mess did you get wrapped up in?"


	3. 12th of August, 2009

Most people did not go to New York on business trips. They went as tourists; they stopped at Broadway night after night to see every show, visited all of the best restaurants, walked through Times Square, and always took the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty. They were equipped with fanny packs and disposable cameras, and one obligatory guidebook. Sometimes they had more than one. You could identify the tourists by the awkward way they flagged down taxis, and the way they struggled with their cash at the end of the ride. They stared out the windows of the yellow cabs, ogling the buildings and the lights—the signs, flashing and scrolling and lighting up the sky like a carnival. But Justin was anything but a tourist, even on his first visit to the city; he sat silently in his taxi, looking out the window but not really seeing anything. His mind was still going over the contents of the journal that was tucked in the chest pocket of his sports coat. He hadn't read any more than Jody's preface, but the words were branded into his mind, and the rest was a mystery of text that he badly wanted to read right now. But first, he wanted privacy. He didn't want anyone to watch the emotions flicker across his face—the laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes, the tears slipping down his cheeks. He wanted to be alone with the journal—alone with Jody, where she could write to him, talk to him, properly.

The hotel that the taxi driver had pulled up to wasn't anything like the Ritz-Carlton. It was a tiny building by New York standards, and it looked more like an old office building than a hotel. There was only one door, which was wooden and so weathered that the stain had completely rubbed off, exposing the bare grain underneath. The doorknob, cheaply made of brass, betrayed the building's age with spots of dullness on the handle, worn from years of constant use. No, Justin thought, this wasn't much of a hotel. But he had asked the taxi driver to take him somewhere cheap and that didn't require a reservation, and this was the closest one. He would just have to make do with this as his home base while he tried to sort out Jody's mess. It didn't make sense to fly back to New Bedford, and besides, he didn't want Dawn to be hanging over him; she wouldn't understand any of this. He'd call her later tonight to tell her that he'd come back when he could.

Justin paid the taxi driver but skimped on the tip this time—even though this was a cheap hotel, Justin had to conserve his money. He might be in the outskirts of Manhattan, but the prices were still abnormally high because this was, well, The City. And nothing in The City is ever cheap.

"I'd like to book a room for a couple days," Justin said to the sleazy-looking man standing behind the hotel's main desk. Justin tried to hide his disgust of the hotel from his voice—the lobby was dingy and musty-smelling, and the manager looked like he hadn't shaved in nearly a week. Uneven, gray stubble covered his chin, and when he smiled his teeth were yellow, as well as crooked. His eyes, bloodshot, were ready to pop out of his face; he looked like a fish, or like he had eaten something really sour.

"A room for one?" the manager asked, already entering some information into his dinosaur of a computer. It was an old Apple, with a floppy-disk port on its face. The apple motif was rainbow.

Justin nodded. "Just for one," he agreed.

"Name, address, and phone number?"

"It's Justin Livingston, five hundred thirty-one Wilson Street, New Bedford, MA, oh-two-seven-four-six. Phone number is five-oh-eight—nine-eight-one—two-three-two-five," Justin recited. The manager held up his index finger as Justin said his phone number, still typing into the ancient computer.

"What were the last four digits of your phone number again? Two-three-two-nine?"

"Two-three-two-five."

The man grunted. "For how long would you like to reserve a room?"

Justin frowned in thought. "I'm here on business, but I'm not sure how long it will take. Can I reserve the room for three days and extend the reservation later?" he asked.

"Yes, you can do that. The charge is two hundred thirty-seven dollars. Will you be paying cash or with plastic?"

"Credit card—do you take Visa, by chance?" Justin slid his card across the desk. The manager inspected it, swiped it through his computer, and printed the receipt. Justin took a pen from the desk and signed the slip of paper, taking the Visa card back as he did so.

The manager handed Justin a plastic room key that was labeled with Sharpie in a messy scrawl. The number scribed on it wasn't legible, and Justin found himself wondering how the manager kept all of the keys straight.

"Number three-thirty-six is on the third floor. The elevator isn't working, so take the stairs down the hall. Be sure to let the staff know if you have any complaints. If you can find them."

Justin smiled weakly, took the key, and nodded his head in thanks, tapping the key on the desk as he left the lobby and headed down the hall to the stairs. It took him a few minutes to find his room, which was situated at the far end of the hallway. Justin slid the key into the scanner and opened the door after it unlocked, pushing it inward. The room wasn't as bad as he had expected—it was simple, but not disgusting. It didn't look like it had bed bugs. There was a single bed covered in a plain bedspread, a tiny but tidy bathroom, and a bureau that also served as a stand for the mini-TV. A phone was attached to the wall with a cheap three dollar calling card hanging from the cord. That'll be handy, Justin thought. He didn't want to start thinking about the expense of using his cell phone on long distance, regardless of his Verizon package.

Justin carried his leather suitcase to the bed and threw it onto the mattress, noting that it immediately buckled. Damn, Justin thought. It was a soft mattress, not firm. Oh well, nothing could change that. Soft mattresses were just cheaper, and obviously the manager was trying to keep his expenses low. He could put up with a few nights of poor sleep.

Opening his briefcase, Justin pulled out a second set of clothes that he had, quite luckily, had the foresight to pack. These he placed in one of the bureau's drawers—socks, boxers, jeans, and a simple green polo shirt. Nothing too fancy, nothing that wrinkles.

Next, Justin turned around to put his suitcase away. Then he went to the closet to hang up his coat. Before he did so, he took Jody's journal out from the pocket. Justin held it in his hands for a minute, unsure of what to do with it, and then placed it back on the bed. Going into the bathroom, Justin turned on the sink and splashed his face with the freezing water, groaning.

Having settled into the hotel room, Justin once again picked up Jody's journal. He studied the cover for a moment, tracing the dark brown leather cover with his fingertips. Then, as he slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, he cracked the journal open and turned past Jody's original note, beginning to read her first entry.

"_You have to listen to my story with an open mind, because what's happened to me makes no sense at all. It took me days to realize that this is my reality now; for the longest time I kept hoping that this was just some elaborate dream, and that I only had to wake up to escape from it. But the truth is that it isn't a dream. I don't know how else to put it, but all of the stories about magic are true. Magic is real, even if none of us think so—it's just as real as you and I, and the real trick is that people have convinced themselves that it's only their imaginations. People can be so silly sometimes._

"_I'm going to start my story with the party; after all, you always start telling the story from the beginning, don't you? So let's go back to the night I disappeared. And Justin, just because it was your party doesn't mean that it's your fault. Stop blaming yourself. I wish I could have told you earlier, so that you would relax, but some things take time. Anyway… the beginning."_

**12th of August, 2009.**

My radio was blasting my favorite song, naturally. I was dancing along to a Cyrus tune as I got ready for Justin's party, sometimes breaking out into song but mostly just dancing. I do like to sing, but pop music isn't exactly my forte. Usually I stick with the older stuff, the music that my mom and dad listen to in the car and while cooking. It's not that I don't like pop music, because I do. I live off Top 40; it's the soul of my summer. But it doesn't really take that much talent to sing along with Cyrus, or Lady Gaga, or better yet, Ke$ha, so I don't have much value for that, even if I enjoy listening to their music. But other songs, especially Celine Dion's, are just as good and ten times harder to sing. If you can sing Celine's stuff, then you have real talent and everyone who hears you will know it. But if you're just singing along with the radio… well, that's not quite the same. Although it is a bit more fun—especially if you're in the car with a group of friends, and the sun roof is open and the windows down. That's where I do most of my singing.

This party's going to be really great, I thought to myself as I picked out my outfit. The clothes I chose were fairly modest for the summer—cutoff jean shorts and a baby-doll tee, the shorts made from a pair of jeans I'd ruined earlier in the year and the tee a Christmas present from two years ago. Usually when I hang out with Justin I wear something a bit more boyish and loose fitting, but he had told me that this party was going to be with a bunch of his college friends, so I have to look decent. There's no telling who I'd meet tonight. I wasn't sure what I was more excited about—seeing Justin after our last term apart at our respective colleges, or his friends, who may or may not take an interest in me. But either way, tonight was going to be fun. A night at Justin's house was always fun—always had been, and always will be.

I almost grabbed some makeup, but I decided to forgo it because, knowing the temperatures here during the summer, it was going to get hot. Nothing is grosser than wearing makeup and sweating like a bull. The foundation just runs off your face and you end up look so splotchy that it's not even worth it. Besides, Justin had said something about going swimming, and the makeup would just wash off anyway.

Speaking of which, I had to get my bathing suit and towel and stick them in my bag. Justin, who I've known for years—dated for five—and consider my best friend, actually rented an aboveground inflatable pool for this party just because he knows how much I like to swim. I'm actually a member of the New Bedford YMCA and swim in their indoor pool almost every day of the summer, but it's still a nice thought. Justin's such a sweetie, even though we're technically not dating anymore. He'd do anything for me, except kill a person, but that goes without saying. I'd do anything for him, too.

Once I had my bag packed, I ran down the stairs to the first level of the three-family house where I live with my parents during college breaks. Halfway through high school they had let me move my bedroom to the top floor where I had more room, and now that's my mini-apartment. I stepped into the main living room of the house and looked for Mom, who I found in the kitchen preparing dinner for her and my dad. "Bye, Mom, I'm going to Justin's," I told her as I grabbed my car keys from the bowl on the kitchen counter. I was the only one driving the truck now, so I could keep the keys with my purse, but some habits never die.

Mom looked up from the veggies she was cutting and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Have fun, honey. And don't forget to tell Justin that I love him! You know, he's such a sweet boy. I don't understand why you two broke up…"

I rolled my eyes at Mom. She's always liked Justin, even when we were still going to Keith Middle School. When we broke up, she took it worse than even I did. You see, Justin and I were really close and we're still really close, but when we had gone to different colleges we had decided that it would be better if we were just friends. Neither of us wanted to go through the drama of a long distance relationship, but my mom still doesn't understand our logic. I swear she wants us to get married or something.

Heading out to our tiny driveway, I hopped into my used (and therefore dying) pickup truck, stabbing the key into the ignition and wrestling with it until it turned over. My truck, which I call my baby, sputtered to life and I nervously tested the brakes. They were still working, thank God, so I put the car in drive and sped off down the boulevard, driving the few city blocks to Justin's house.

When I got there, I found the driveway and street surrounding Justin's house completely filled with cars. I managed to parallel park with a van and a red Toyota Camry after some finagling, but when I went to leave I'd have to ask one of their drivers to move first. But I didn't worry about it because chances were that they would leave before me. I was always the last to leave Justin's, mainly because I not only had to catch up with Justin but also with his entire family, who would be eating out for dinner before watching a movie at the Flagship Cinema. Like my mom and dad, Justin's family wishes that we were still dating. The two sides have probably conspired a hundred times to get us back together, but it won't work. Not until Justin and I have both decided that we'd seen enough of the world and other people, anyway.

Justin opened the door for me before I had even climbed up the brick stairs. "Jody!" he exclaimed, tackling me with a hug. I laughed and hugged him back, ruffling his hair playfully as I did so. "Hey, don't mess with my hair! It took hours to get it like that," he teased me, knowing full well that neither of us would ever be that obsessed with our appearances.

"How's the party going?" I asked, stepping inside his house. I was immediately barraged with thumping base and when Justin closed the door behind me, I was thrown into total darkness. Only a single strobe light lit the entryway and kitchen of the house. In the flashing light, I could make out a large group of people—mostly college boys, but there were a few girls—dancing and moving in what seemed, due to the strobe light, to be in slow motion.

"It's going pretty great, although now that you're here, it can really get going," Justin replied, shouting in my ear. I felt him place a drink in my hand. "Got you a bottle of Coke from the fridge, since I assumed that it's still the only soda you will drink."

I gently squeezed Justin's arm in reply. "You know me so well," I said as I took a sip of the sweet nectar. "So, how's college been treating you?"

Justin took my hand and led me into the living room to a couch. We threw ourselves down, Justin balancing on the arm of the couch next to me. "Wonderfully," he replied, "but let's hear about you first. Have you finally finished that awful physics class you told me about earlier?"

"Yeah, and I'm so glad it's over. I had the craziest professor, who kept telling weird stories in class that didn't make any sense within the context. I think I told you about the elephant?"

"Yeah, the elephant that kept appearing out of nowhere. What was that about again?" Justin asked.

I scrunched up my face in thought. "It had to do with the theory of sudden appearances, or something like that, I think," I said. "Gah, I don't remember. Shows how much I learned… God, I hated that class. And I'm a science major, I should enjoy it!"

"Should've gone into English like me," Justin joked. "I've just started this new class about linguistics and grammar. It's really intense; all we do is correct papers. I've never learned so much about grammar in my entire life."

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "Ugh, that sounds rough. But I bet you love it, right?" Justin nodded, and I smiled. For as long as I've known Justin, he's loved English and languages. He's studied both Latin and Spanish, and now he's learning Greek and linguistics. His love of words translates to a love for writing. One day, he really will publish a book, and I'll be first in line to buy it.

Justin suddenly jumped up from the couch. "Listen, I have to get some more food. Why don't you go socialize? We can talk later when the party's over and the family comes back."

"Sure, see you later," I said, getting up myself. Justin disappeared into the kitchen, and I made my way into the crowd of dancing college students. I recognized a couple people from Justin's last party and nodded my head at them in greeting, but I only stopped to talk and flirt with the new people, working my way around the room. By the end of the night, I'd be on friendly terms with all of them.

"Hey, kid," I said to one really cute boy. He was a full head taller than me and had shaggy blonde hair that kept falling into his eyes. "I'm Jody, Justin's friend."

"Rob," the guy said to me. "Nice to meet you. Want to dance?"

"Sure," I said, my face lighting up. I'd only introduced myself, and already I was dancing with a guy! This was turning out to be one hell of a night… of course, Justin had the best of friends.

Rob took my hand and spun me in a circle, lightly grinding against me as we swung in time to the music. A couple of Rob's friends whistled and I did a shimmy for them, laughing as they clapped in appreciation. "Stay back, boys," I teased them. "If you come any closer I'm going to burn ya." They laughed again.

Rob chuckled in my ear and moved his hand to my arm. "You're funny," he said to me. "Justin told me I'd like you."

I craned my head around and smiled as charmingly as I could. Man, was flirting with boys fun! I'm so shameless, but I do have my own standards so it all works out in the end. "So, do you like me?"

Rob pouted thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he exaggerated. I burst out laughing. "I'd say so," he replied. "Why don't we go grab some food and chat a bit? This song's going to end soon, anyway."

"Sounds good to me," I said, taking Rob's hand and leading him into the kitchen. I winked at Justin as we passed him and he shook his head, chuckling.

Rob sat down at the counter and he pushed a plate of chips and salsa over to the other chair, where I sat down. "So, how do you know Justin?" he asked me.

"We've been going to school together since the fourth grade," I explained. "We dated during high school, but now that we're at different colleges we've decided it's better to be friends. How do you know Justin?"

"I had an English paper that was being a stickler, and when I went to the writing lab, I ended up having Justin as my peer editor. I'm a regular over at the lab, so we kept working together, Justin always complaining about my split infinitives."

I grinned. "I bet that was tough. I've had Justin edit my essays before, and I hate to say it, but he only got me more confused. He knows the grammar inside out, but uses a vocabulary that should have stayed with the Romans. I still have no idea what he means by ablative of agent."

Rob nodded in reply and ate some chips from the bowl. "It took me a month to understand him," he said after he swallowed, "but now I totally get how to stay in one tense. He's a smart guy."

"He's smart if you mean in terms of books," I joked. "But street smart he's not."

Rob smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. "I know. You'll never believe what he did one day when we were going out for lunch…"

Rob and I spoke for what must have been hours. We took a short break to dance again, but it was just so much more fun to chat. Our conversation originally revolved around Justin, who was our common ground, but once we started learning about each other we switched to other topics. We were in the middle of discussing which method of education is best when someone tapped me on a shoulder. I spun around and came face to face with one of the college boys I hadn't talked to yet. "You're Jody, Justin's friend, right?" he asked me.

I nodded. "That I am. What's up?"

Rob looked away politely while I spoke to the other kid. "I'm going for a dip in the pool, and I heard that you like to swim. Want to come with me?"

I looked at Rob, who shrugged. "Do you mind?" I asked him.

"Nah, I'll go hang out with my bros. Just don't leave the party without giving me your number," he instructed as he got up and left.

I turned back to the other guy and stood up. "I'm going to go change into my bathing suit but I'll meet you at the pool," I said. Then I went to the bathroom and quickly changed, climbing through the window into the backyard because it's a lot faster than having to walk through the house again. Not to mention, I didn't want to have to walk across the cold tile in the house barefoot. Standing next to the pool, I could hear the boy splashing in the pool, so I climbed up the ladder and jumped in. "Bombs away!" I yelled.

The guy chuckled. "I'm Mark," he said when I came back up to the surface.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Mark. How did you meet Justin?" I swam a few strokes closer to him so that I could see him better in the poor light. He reminded me a bit of Neville Longbottom from the Harry Potter movies—a bit gawky, and shy, but simply a late bloomer. Now that I thought of it, he had seemed a little nervous when he had asked me to go for a swim. The poor guy, he still looked nervous even now.

"I actually don't know him very well—I'm here with a mutual friend. That's alright, isn't it? I don't want to be crashing the party or anything like that," he said quickly.

I laughed and playfully splashed some water at Mark. "No, that's terrible; you need to leave right away. Of course it's alright, silly! Justin's pretty easy-going and likes most people, so unless you're a conman or other criminal, you're okay."

Mark sighed, releasing a decent amount of tension. "Okay, good."

"What are you majoring in?" I asked him, to keep the conversation alive. We were both treading water.

"I'm doing some minority studies, for lack of a better word," Mark replied. "You?"

"I'm basic engineering for now. I'm not sure what field to specialize in. Now, what minority are you studying? African-American? Women?"

"Neither. I'm studying Wicca," Mark told me.

I cocked my head, thinking. "Wicca? Aren't the Wiccans, like, witches?"

Mark seemed pleased with my interest, because he smiled and swam a bit closer. We were now only a foot or so apart. "Yeah. Actually, I'm Wiccan."

My mouth gaped open a tiny little bit. "Are you? So, do you do actual magic?"

"Well, there's more to being Wiccan than doing magic, but yes. You do realize that Wicca's a religion, don't you?"

I shrugged as best as I could while treading water. "Actually, I don't know much at all about Wicca. What do you worship?"

"Well, it's a Pagan faith of a sort—we celebrate and worship nature and its powers. Witchcraft is just a facet of our faith. We use our magic to heal, and to do good. It's a very positive faith."

I nodded in understanding. "Most faiths are positive. Now, here's a slightly offensive question—are you a witch, or are you called a warlock?"

Mark laughed, and it was a rich, baritone sound. "We're all called witches. Warlock is a word that came from writers, not from us."

"Ah," I said, for I had nothing else to say.

"Want to know a little secret?" Mark whispered conspiringly.

I giggled and leaned forward. "Sure," I whispered back.

Mark suddenly lost the humor in his expression, watching me very seriously with suddenly sharp eyes. "I came to this party because I have a task. See, us Wiccans use our magic to do good for people and animals in the world, whenever we can. I'm fairly new to the faith, so I have to display my talent, so to speak, in order to fully become a part of the coven. Tonight, I'm going to do good for someone here at the party, in order to finally become a true witch." He paused, to see how I would react.

"Well, it's not to hurt anyone, is it? I mean, if it's to do good in the world… who's the recipient of the magic? Can I watch you do the spell? What spell are you going to do, exactly?" My words came out rushed, as I got more enraptured with the whole reason for Mark's attendance to the party. "Is it for Justin?"

Mark shook his head. "Not for Justin," he told me. "For you."

I stopped treading water, letting my feet touch the bottom of the pool so I could stand. Mark calmly did the same. "What—what do you mean? What are you going to do?"

Mark searched my face, and suddenly he looked very sad. "People like you are rare," he said wistfully. "I'll probably never see one of you again."

"One of what?" I asked, stepping back a foot. Mark stepped forward, his hands held out non-threateningly. I watched him uncertainly, but he didn't make any sudden movements towards me.

"One of the lost, those who try as they might, don't belong, nor ever will. Sometimes, they are found, and sent to where they belong. Then they can be truly happy. But more often than not, they are not found, and remain lost, in a place where they don't belong. They try to have a happy life, but somehow, they will never be content."

Mark lost the misty look in his eyes. "You are one such person. The good I can do for you—the good that I will do for you—is send you where you belong. I will give you happiness, ultimately."

"What are you going on about?" I asked, rather confused and alarmed.

"You don't understand now, and I sympathize. But you need to trust me. You clearly don't belong here, and with a simple spell, you will go where you do."

"Clearly?"

Mark interrupted. "Hush, child." His mouth moved, and suddenly my ears were empty of sound. It was akin to listening to a seashell—the echo of my eardrums. I was tired; deaf; my eyes were closing. I felt myself slip back into the water, and then my ears popped.

Suddenly, I could hear everything—Mark's strange words, chanting so loudly that it was almost like a drumming in my head, non-stop and loud, painful, making me want to cry; I opened my mouth to scream, but it filled with water and I drank and couldn't breathe… my eyes saw only blue, the sky was dark black above me; someone's arms were around me—Mark, maybe?

And then I was out of the water, gasping for my breath, and my ears deafened again, but ringing. Mark was holding me up, rather tenderly. He said something, but I couldn't hear him or read his lips because my vision was blurred. My eyes were stinging. Something pressed against my hand, and vaguely I felt it sting. Mark pressed something against my eyes, and then pushed me back under the water, holding me still. I felt the water close over me, but I didn't breathe at all—everything was black, and I had no senses at all. I didn't feel like a person at all. I had my thoughts, but could feel, see, hear, nothing… and then everything faded away, until it was all


	4. 12th of August, 1901

**12th of August, 1901.**

Whatever Mark did to me- either hit me in the back of the head or cast that spell of his- didn't feel like anything normal. For the longest time, I couldn't think at all. I was aware of my body, but I couldn't move any of my fingers. My skin was tingling, and my head was aching. Maybe this was what being paralyzed feels like. I kept commanding my arms to move, but they were just empty lumps dangling from my shoulders. I was empty.

I don't remember when I started thinking, either. It was like waking up from a really deep sleep. Suddenly my brain was awake, and I was thinking about how I might be paralyzed and panicking about what Mark may or may not have done to me.

And then, suddenly, my ears started pounding. I could feel the blood rushing into my head. I could hear around me, too, but everything sounded like a stereo that was playing too loudly. I couldn't figure out what was going on around me- my arms still weren't moving, and my eyes wouldn't open, either. But I tried to listen to my surroundings. From what I could sense from the static and ringing in my ears, there were two voices above me. Both were deep, and both were so loud that I couldn't hear what they were saying.

After a few minutes- or at least what I thought were a few minutes, since I didn't have a reference for time- the ringing in my ears stopped, and the static lessened a bit. Slowly, in bits and pieces, I was able to figure out what was being said. As the two voices became clearer, I realized that one was to my left and one to my right. Both sounded like teenage males. My heart started to thump wildly- was I still at the party? Did Justin know that Mark had kidnapped me? Did anyone realize that I was missing? Was I being date raped?

"I think she's coming to," the voice to my left said. "Give her some space so she can breathe, Jack."

In my haze, I frowned. There hadn't been anyone at the party named Jack, had there?

Jack, the one with the deeper voice, spoke and this time it sounded further away. "Do you think she's one of them workin' girls?" he asked.

"I don't know. But still, she's fallen on hard times."

"We're not going to help her if she's a workin' girl, David. You never help workin' girls. It's just not a good idea," Jack said.

Why were they wondering if I was a prostitute? Unless they _had_ date raped me. But that didn't make sense, because the fact that they had violated me didn't make me a prostitute. Annoyed and insulted, I tried to say something to them but only mumbled a few choice words. It wasn't anything intelligible, though, and perhaps that was a good thing. But it still took the fun of it for me.

"You don't have to tell me not to get involved with a working girl, Jack. Mama would have my head if I did. But we can't just leave her here, and you know it."

Jack sighed. "Sounds like she's waking up."

David paused. "It should only take her a couple minutes," he said softly.

They stopped talking, and I kept my eyes closed. I was hoping that they would start talking again and give me some clues about my location, but they stayed silent. Unable to glean anymore information from the two boys, I finally cracked my eyes opened. When I did, I automatically groaned. I was lying on the ground right underneath a bright streetlight, and my head started pounding. Immediately I closed my eyes again, and I clutched my head with one of my hands. My relief at not being paralyzed was washed away, though, by the splitting pain I felt in my temples. It felt like my head was going to burst open.

"You all right?" Jack asked.

I cracked my eyes open again, squinting. Jack- or the boy I supposed was Jack- was leaning over me, blocking the lamp's light. I could only see his outline, but I could tell that he had long and somewhat greasy brown hair. Something- it almost looked like a hat- hung around his shoulders. "No shit, Sherlock," I said to him testily. It wasn't something to be unexpected, either. I didn't know where I was, I had possibly been date raped, my head was killing me, and Jack had been dumb enough to ask me a brainless question.

Jack looked shocked at my answer and leaned back, letting the lamp's light fall back onto my face. I clapped a hand over my eye, wincing. "Why did you have to move?" I complained.

Jack frowned at me and glanced at his companion, who I noticed was about the same age as Jack and had curly hair. Sitting on the ground next to him and leaning against his shoulder was a younger boy, one who seemed to be sleeping. Huh, maybe I hadn't been date raped. I'd never heard of someone twisted enough to do it with a ten-year old around.

"Ladies don't talk like that," Jack said slowly and somewhat angrily. I lifted my eyebrows at his reaction. What was his problem? It wasn't as if he could command the way I spoke. And besides, why did he have to be sexist? Girls should be able to swear just as much as boys do. If he didn't like it, then it was too bad for him.

"And who said that boys don't chase after girls? Looks like we both break the status quo," I quipped.

Out of the corner of my eye, David stiffened. I lifted my head a couple inches and looked over at him. David's mouth was set in a hard line, and even though I'd just met him I knew that he was angry. "If you want us to leave you here, then definitely keep speaking that way," he said harshly.

I sighed and rubbed my head again. It wasn't pounding as much as it had before, but I still felt sick. "Fine, I'm sorry," I grumbled as I tried to sit up. My arms were weak, though, and I was only able to lift myself a couple inches off the cobblestone beneath me. Just as I was about to give up and lie back down on the ground, I felt someone's hands behind my back. Jack had knelt down to hold me up, and he gently pushed me into a sitting position. "Thanks," I said to him.

Jack smiled at me, and I was caught off guard by his charm. He had dimples in his cheeks, and his chocolate eyes were staring into mine deeply. "Why don't you tell us who you are and what happened to you?" he asked me.

I nodded. "My name's Jody Forrester," I told the two of them. "I'm not really sure what happened to me. Where am I, exactly?"

David and Jack exchanged a look, but I didn't get a chance to ask what they were thinking when David answered my question. "You're in Manhattan," he supplied.

I immediately started laughing. This had to be some kind of joke. I didn't think it was Justin's idea, but maybe Mark had come up with it. He was definitely creepy enough to arrange this. Jack and David were probably his crazy friends.

"Why are you laughing?" David asked me.

I shook my head. "Manhattan. That's really funny," I said when my chuckles subsided.

Jack stared at me. "Why's it funny?" he asked.

"Maybe it's because this isn't Manhattan."

David looked at me like he thought I was insane. "Do you really think that?" he asked. "Because you really are in Manhattan."

Suddenly my humor vanished, and my stomach sank. Mark had said something about sending me to where I belonged. What if he really was a Wiccan, and what if he really did use magic to send me where I belonged? And what if where I belonged was Manhattan?

"This is Manhattan." I repeated, just to make sure.

"Yes."

I looked at Jack and then David. Both looked completely serious. "You're not lying?" I asked, checking a third time. None of this made sense, but if it was a Wiccan's doing… maybe it was possible. It would be highly unlikely, of course, but possible. I was probably the one person out of ten million in the statistics.

Jack nodded. "We wouldn't lie to a lady like you," he said kindly.

David snorted. "Unless we were selling a pape to you, in which case Jack would be 'improving the truth a little.'"

Jack laughed at their inside joke, but I failed to see the humor and instead let it roll off my shoulders. "Fine, it's Manhattan. I believe you."

David cocked an eyebrow at me. "And why wouldn't you believe us?"

I bit my lip. Perhaps it wasn't the best thing to tell them that I was from a completely different state. "I'm not from New York," I settled for instead.

That was a mistake, though, because it seemed to perk the interest of both boys. "Where are you from?" Jack asked.

"Massachusetts," I said warily.

David tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Not that I don't doubt you or anything," he said politely, "but how did you not know you were in Manhattan if you live in Massachusetts? Obviously it took you some time to travel here, I mean."

My cheeks flushed. "I just forgot about it," I mumbled, trying to think of some legitimate explanation. "It wasn't like I was planning to come here, and I've only just arrived. I'm still in the Massachusetts mind-set, and I got confused for a bit."

"So, how did you end up on the streets? Manhattan's a dangerous place at night for ladies like you," David said carefully.

I exhaled sharply and rubbed my forehead, which was beginning to ache again. In fact, my whole body was beginning to ache. I felt like I had run three miles without pacing myself properly. Looking at David, I smiled weakly. "The past is the past for a reason, my friend."

Jack took my hand and rubbed it sympathetically. When I switched my gaze to his face, I was surprised to see the warmth in his eyes. "I know what you mean about pasts," he said to me. "We won't ask about it. But we need to know… you're not a workin' girl, are you?"

David shot Jack a sharp look, and I wrenched my hand from Jack's hold. "No, I am not a working girl and I am insulted that you would think so," I snapped at him. "I'd never degrade myself that way."

Jack stuttered for a moment, but David shook his head and addressed me in his place. "Jack never beats around the bush," he explained. "We just wanted to make sure that you weren't one, because as much as we'd like to help damsels in distress, we aren't going to help a working girl. We're sorry for insulting you by asking."

My eyes were still narrowed at Jack, but I nodded politely. "It's all right," I told them. "Do you mind introducing yourselves?"

David flushed, and Jack proffered his hand to me. I took it once again, shaking it firmly. "I'm Jack Kelly," he said. "And that's David Jacobs. The kid is his brother, Les."

Hearing his name, Les woke from his slumber. He looked around, his big brown eyes blinking sleepily. When he noticed me, he immediately turned to his brother. "Who is she?" he asked excitedly. It almost felt like I was a stray puppy, and Les was excited about taking me home to keep.

David sighed. "She's Jody Forrester, and she's just come up from Massachusetts," he introduced us.

"Is she going to come home with us?" Les asked.

Now it was my turn to flush, and David laughed nervously. "Well, uh, we haven't really—"

Jack cut him off. "Yes, she will, because she won't be allowed to stay at the Lodging House and I doubt she has any other place set up for tonight. Your parents won't mind, David. They know it's not safe for her out on the streets."

I mouthed 'thank you' at Jack, who chuckled. David sighed again, getting up from the ground and dusting off his knees as he did so. "It's a short walk, about three blocks to my apartment," he said to me. "Come on, Les, you can walk now that you're awake." Les grudgingly climbed to his feet and Jack did the same, but not before extending a hand to me to pull me up. My muscles ached from the movement, and I tried not to wince as my legs stretched.

"Are you feelin' sore?" Jack asked me.

I nodded, closing my eyes as my back throbbed. "Yeah, it's my legs. And my back. And my head. The light's really bright," I mumbled.

Jack took my arm gently and tugged me forward. "Come on, then, we'll get you out from underneath it," he said to me. But when I stepped forward, my vision blurred and I overbalanced. David ran up to my other side and caught me.

"Take it easy," he said. "I've got you."

"I'm a bit dizzy," I told him.

David chuckled and took a firmer grip on my arm. "I can see that," he said. "Jack and I'll walk you home, all right?"

Both boys pulled me forward, checking me as I tilted from my dizziness and overbalanced. Even Les, the cute kid that he was, helped keep me upright by keeping a hand on my right leg. The walk to David's apartment felt like an eternity, and I was relieved when I was finally able to stop walking. David opened a door to the main stairwell and Jack directed me inside. Once we got onto the stairs, I placed one hand on the railing and the other on the wall to steady myself. The hall light was dim, and didn't affect my headache. "I think I can handle this," I said as I looked up the stairs. "How many flights is it?"

David looked up. "Three," he replied. "Jack and I are right behind you if you get dizzy again. Les, why don't you run upstairs and tell Mama and Papa that we're coming with a guest?"

"I'll be back!" Les said energetically before leaping up the stairs two at a time. I could hear his feet thumping on the stairs all the way up to the apartment. Breathing deeply, I planted one foot on the next step and pulled myself forward. It hurt and I was extremely tired, but I was determined to make it up these stairs on my own. I had already asked enough help from Jack and David.

When we reached the third floor, the door was already standing there and a matronly woman who I presumed was David's mother was standing with a shawl. She immediately wrapped it around my chilled shoulders and pulled me into the room, sitting me down at the tiny kitchen table. A girl, who looked like she was a year or two older than David, was at the stove with a kettle of water. When the kettle whistled, she poured it into a cup with some tea leaves and placed it in front of me. "Thank you," I said as I took the cup in my hands, warming them.

Both David and Jack hugged David's mother. Les allowed her to kiss his forehead, but he was excited about me and was trying to help David's sister prepare some food for me. I gratefully took the slice of bread and butter and ate it, savoring its earthy taste as it melted on my tongue. There's nothing better than homemade bread.

"Mayer, the boys are home," she called into the next room. A few minutes later, I heard a book closing and Mayer, David's father, shuffled into the kitchen. He had a pair of reading glasses on his nose and his arm was in a sling. Mayer greeted both of his sons and Jack warmly before turning his attention to me. "And who is this?" he asked, looking at me but directing his question to David.

David stood behind me. "This is Jody Forrester, from Massachusetts. Jack and I found her unconscious on the street," he explained.

Mayer and his wife exchanged a long glance. "Esther," Mayer said to her, "Why don't you put Les to bed?"

Esther nodded. "Of course, dear," she said before taking Les by the hand and leading him over to a cot by the window. While she settled him in for the night, Mayer looked me over.

"How did a girl like you end up on the streets of New York unconscious?" he asked me.

I blinked. "It's not important," I replied carefully. "All it matters is that I made it to Manhattan like I was supposed to, and David and Jack were kind of enough to take care of me. They could have easily left me on the street."

By now Esther and gotten Les to sleep and rejoined the conversation. "David and Jack would never leave a helpless girl like you on the street," she said, turning the conversation and preventing Mayer from asking me more about what had happened. "If I didn't teach them anything else, they know to treat a girl right."

I dipped my head to her politely, taking a sip of the tea. It was still hot and burned my tongue, so I blew on the surface. "Don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful."

Esther's expression was one of confusion. "Don't get you wrong?" she repeated.

I looked around, and everyone was staring at me oddly. "It's just a phrase," I explained. And then it hit me. Nothing about this place was like modern 2009. The stove was wood-burning, not electric. The streets had been cobblestoned, not paved. There had not been any sidewalks. The lamps had been, well, old. The entire Jacobs family and Jack spoke differently, and they didn't understand the expressions that I used. And now that I was looking around, and now that my vision wasn't blurred from dizziness, I noticed that none of the clothes were modern. The men wore dress pants, dress shirts, and suspenders. Both Esther and David's sister wore ankle-length dresses and had long hair done up in buns. The scariest part? I was wearing an ankle-length dress, too. _That's what Mark meant about changing my clothes,_ I realized. Not only had he sent me to Manhattan, but he had sent me into the past. He had changed my clothes because if he hadn't, I would have been carted off to the nearest asylum. At least Mark had some foresight.

"Um, I have a dumb question for you… what's the date again?" I asked nonchalantly, fighting to keep my voice even.

"August 12th, 1901," David supplied.

I swallowed. "Right. For a minute I thought it was the August 10th and I got really confused," I said.

"Les said that you volunteered our home to Jody," Mayer said pointedly to his son. Pink crept up David's neck, and even Jack looked shamefaced.

"Oh, stop it, Mayer," Esther said to her husband, whacking his shoulder with a dish towel. "You wouldn't expect any less of them. Our home is open to Jody for as long as she needs it."

"Thank you so much," I thanked her honestly. "You have no idea how grateful I am. I'll make up for it, of course. I'll help make dinner, clean, whatever you need. I don't want to disservice you in any way."

"There's no way you can disservice us," Esther said warmly. She sat down at the table, and everyone else did the same. David's sister ended up sitting on my right, and Jack was to my left. To his left, David sat. Esther and Mayer were on the other side of the table.

"What brings you to Manhattan?" David's sister asked conversationally. "I'm Sarah, by the way. You'll be sharing my bed."

I turned to my new roommate and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Sarah. Well, I came to New York for a new start. It isn't called the City of Opportunity for nothing," I said.

Sarah leaned forward in interest. "Really? I didn't know that New York had such a reputation."

I nodded. "It does. There's even a song about it that I know. Want me to sing what I can remember?"

Sarah's eyes lit up and opened her mouth to encourage me when Esther interrupted. "As long as it doesn't wake Les," she said.

"Okay, I'll be quiet," I promised her. "Here's how it goes. _I'm from New York! Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there's nothing you can't do. Now you're in New York! These streets will make you feel brand new, big lights will inspire you. Hear it for New York, New York, New York._"

Singing a familiar song like Jay-Z's Empire State of Mind, even if my voice was rusty and horribly off key tonight, instantly made me feel better. It minimized some of the shock of traveling back in time one hundred eight years and to another city, and it made my surroundings feel a bit more like home. It was actually like the proof that this wasn't some dream. I really was from the future, and wasn't just some girl from 1901 having a mental breakdown. The song and the lyrics proved it to me.

"That was beautiful," Sarah said to me. The spell broken, everyone at the table said their praise to me. I blushed and bowed my head to them respectfully. "That wasn't anything good," I said modestly. "My voice isn't quite right tonight."

"That doesn't matter," Sarah continued to praise me. "Are there any songs about Massachusetts?"

I thought hard. "Not really," I said. "I know a line from one, but I can't think of any others."

"Oh," Sarah said, and I wasn't quite sure but she sounded disappointed.

After a brief moment of silence, Esther looked at one of the clocks on the wall. "It's fairly late," she said, getting up from the table. "Sarah, why don't you take Jody to your room and get into bed. David can say goodbye to Jack while you're undressing."

Sarah stood up and took my hand, pulling me up. My joints cracked as I stood, but I felt better for it. Part of the problem seemed to have been that my bones weren't aligned quite right, but now they were. "Yes, Mama. Goodnight, Papa," Sarah said to her parents. I bid them goodnight as well. "Come this way," Sarah said to me as she led me into the room that, I now observed, she shared with David. Going to a bureau on one of the room's walls, Sarah pulled out two long night-gowns. She handed one to me, and we silently changed our clothes. Sarah folded both and placed them back into the drawer. "You can borrow one of my dresses for tomorrow," she offered kindly.

"Thank you, Sarah," I said in reply. "Which bed is ours?" Sarah pointed to the closest bed, and we slipped under its covers. Shortly thereafter, David knocked on the door.

"You can come in!" Sarah called to him. David nudged the door open and slipped into the room. He went to the same bureau, opened a different drawer, and disappeared from the room. A few minutes, he returned in a nightshirt and put his clothes away before slipping into his bed on the opposite wall.

"Goodnight, Sarah. Goodnight, Jody," he said, yawning.

"Goodnight," Sarah and I chorused. And then, exhausted from the time travel and exertions of Justin's party, I closed my eyes and slipped into a deep and comforting sleep.


	5. 13th of August, 1901

I woke the next morning to the sound of rustling. Opening my eyes, I was hailed with the sight of David tucking his shirt into his pants, his back towards me. "Ahem," I coughed, loud enough for David to hear me but quiet enough not to wake Sarah up. The girl was still deeply asleep, and I didn't want to disturb her, especially after she had kindly let me spend the night in her clothes and bed.

David spun around when he heard me cough and his cheeks flushed from embarrassment. "I didn't know you were awake," he explained awkwardly as he pulled his vest on, doing only the top button. A dark blue tie hung around his neck loosely, but he quickly pulled on the knot to tighten it.

"I didn't see anything," I told him truthfully. David's blush became even redder. "Where are you going?" I asked him.

"To work," David replied. "Les and I have to sell the morning edition of the _World_."

"May I come?" I asked him, my curiosity piqued. David stared at me incredulously.

"You want to sell newspapers on the street with a bunch of street rats?"

I frowned. "You don't really think Jack's a street rat, do you? I thought you were his friend…"

David sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair. "That's not what I meant. The newsies are my friends and I would never think otherwise, but there's no doubt that they're street rats. I don't think they're the type of people you should be spending your time with."

"But it's perfectly okay for me to live with you," I said slowly.

"I'm different," David said. "I wasn't a newsie until my father got hurt in the factory two years ago. His arm has been taking a while to heal, and once he has his job back I'm going back to school."

"Oh," I said quietly. I hadn't known that Mayer had been one of the statistics in my American history book. I was familiar with the factories of the Industrial Revolution and all the casualties they had led to, but it was a bit of a shock to see the actual family and their suffering. It was a huge difference between reading about history and seeing it for real.

"I'm flattered that you want to help sell papers to pay for your board, but the street isn't the right place for you. If you really want to help us, you can ask Sarah about going to the factory with her. She's a seamstress," David told me.

"So I can't come? Even though about one in every fifteen newsies is a girl?" I shot back, annoyed with David's Victorian mind-set. I might not be as strong as New York boys, but I could hold my own. Why wouldn't David at least recognize my independence? Oh, that's right, it was because I was now in 1901. There weren't any independent girls back then.

David sighed again, and I bristled. Before I could say anything, David raised his hand. "Those girls are mostly orphans and living on the streets or in the Girl's Lodging House. They're not like you or Sarah. Trust me, Jody; you'll be better off at the factory."

"I'll let you know when I get my arm ripped off from the machines," I said spitefully.

David's blue eyes were now dangerously hardened. "I'll see you when Les and I get back tonight," he said coldly before stalking out of the room, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, I felt my anger dissipate and I looked out the window, working my fingers into the quilt Sarah had tucked around her. That's when I started to cry. None of this was fair. Mark had said that I belonged here, but I obviously didn't. I was a forward-thinking independent girl, and now I was living in the Victorian era. I had no voice, I couldn't vote, I couldn't even spend my day doing what I wanted. I couldn't go to school; I couldn't control my life anymore.

It wasn't David's fault, either. He had a different idea for how women should act, and he was only trying to keep me in the same frame that all other women were held in. It wasn't his fault that I wasn't from the same culture. He didn't know that I thought differently. It wasn't his fault, even though I desperately wanted it to be.

I sat upright on Sarah's bed for what must have been hours. At first my tears were silent, and my body only shuddered because I didn't want to wake Sarah. But then, with the calamity of my situation, the shudders turned to sobs. I bit my fist to keep from crying out too loudly, and I clapped my hand over my mouth whenever I felt like I was going to wail. And then, suddenly, I had no more tears. Touching my cheeks, I found that they were dried. My eyes were puffy, but it wasn't anything that a splash of cold water wouldn't fix. I started to rub my eyes to separate my lashes, and that's when Sarah finally woke. She rolled over in the bed and opened her eyes, looking at me in confusion.

"Is something wrong?" she asked me, her voice cracking from lack of use.

I shook my head. "It's nothing, Sarah. Say, David told me that I should go to the factory with you today."

Sarah's eyes lit up with excitement. "That's such a good idea! Why didn't I think of that earlier?" she exclaimed. "We can work at stations next to each other, and you can tell me all about your home in Massachusetts."

I smiled at Sarah weakly. "Sure," I told her. "When should we leave?"

Sarah looked over to a clock that was hung on the wall above the bureau. "As soon as we get dressed, make breakfast, and pack lunch," she answered. "Here, let me get you some clothes. Do you want a skirt or a dress?" Sarah climbed out of the bed and opened a drawer in the bureau, waiting for my answer.

"Uh, a skirt," I said after thinking a moment. With Manhattan's heat in the summer, I'd be more comfortable in a skirt than in one of the heavy cotton dresses.

"Here," Sarah said, holding out a long tan skirt, white blouse, and chocolate-colored sash for a belt. I climbed out of bed and took them, slipping into her clothes. I had to tie the sash around my waist fairly tightly, because Sarah was one or two sizes bigger than me. "How do I look?" I asked after slipping on the boots Mark had been so kind to give me.

Sarah looked me over and smiled. "Stunning," she said warmly. "Let's go to the kitchen."

Esther and Mayer both looked up when we entered the kitchen. "Good morning, girls," Esther said as we sat down at the table. She immediately put a bowl of oatmeal in front of each of us. "Did you sleep well, Jody?"

I smiled and picked up the spoon, twirling it in my fingers as I answered. "Yes, I did. You have a lovely home." Then I took a bite of the oatmeal, which was runny from the extra water in it but still tasty.

Esther and Mayer smiled at each other. "Thank you," Mayer said to me. "I understand that you're going to the factory with Sarah today?"

I looked up in surprise. "How did—"

"David mentioned it before he left. It's a very kind thought, Jody. Don't feel that you have to contribute to the family, though."

I smiled weakly. "It's nothing, really. I don't want to overstay my welcome, so if I can chip in a few cents here and there I'll be happy."

Esther placed a cup of water in front of me and patted my shoulder affectionately. "You're such a sweet girl," she said. I looked over at Sarah, who smiled. If David was being standoffish, Sarah was more than making up for it.

"If you're done eating," she said a few minutes later, "I'll get my basket of lace doilies and we can walk to the factory."

I nodded, getting up from the table and putting my napkin down. "Is there somewhere I can put the bowl?" I asked, directing my question to Esther.

Esther immediately took the bowl from my hands. "No, no, I'll take care of it," she gently scolded me. "You and Sarah can leave; I'll clean the table myself."

"Thanks," I said before turning to Sarah, who had tucked the basket under her arm. "Shall we?" I asked her.

Sarah nodded. "Yes, but could you do me a favor and get the door for me?"

I did as Sarah asked, and we stepped out of the apartment and into the stairwell. "After you," I said to Sarah, gesturing for her to go down the stairs first. I followed her, but when we got to the bottom of the last set of stairs I cut in front to hold the door open. Sarah squeezed between me and the open door, thanking me as she did. Then I stepped out into the street, and I was immediately accosted by the humidity.

I've never been to a big city before. Even though I technically live in a city, it's more like a giant town. But Manhattan was huge, part of New York City, and in 1899 it was sweltering. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet and I could already feel beads of sweat forming on my brow. The cotton blouse stuck to my skin, and I had to control my hands to keep them from pulling my skirt up. As much as I wanted to, it would be a bad idea to shorten the ankle-length skirt to my thighs.

"It's hot, isn't it?" Sarah asked me. "I bet it's a lot different from Massachusetts."

I nodded in agreement. "I'm used to a sea breeze, so the humidity is what's killing me. Will it be hotter inside the factory?"

Sarah nodded, and I groaned. "It's not that much hotter," she quickly amended.

"It's alright, I can manage," I told Sarah. "Alright, lead the way. I have no idea where this factory is."

We walked side-by-side down the street. All around us, I saw newsies hawking headlines. I kept wondering if any of them were David's friends, or if we would see Jack. I wanted to thank him for taking care of me last night. "Does Jack sell around here?" I finally asked Sarah after craning my head around, squinting at every newsie on the street.

Sarah twisted her head to look at me, and sounded curious when she spoke. "No, Jack and David usually sell on the other side of Manhattan, where the wrestling ring is. Why?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I just wanted to thank him," I told Sarah. She nodded, letting the conversation drift off. We walked the rest of the trip in silence, with a couple random questions from Sarah about Massachusetts and my family. I tried to answer as vaguely as possible so I wouldn't give away too much information about the future, but it was so difficult that my answers were mainly one word long. Sarah eventually gave up, and for a while neither of us spoke.

Suddenly Sarah grabbed my elbow, pulling me to a halt. "We're here," she said while looking up at a seven-story brick building. I looked at it, too, and was intimidating by the imposing oak door. "Come on, let's clock in."

Inside the factory, I was surrounded by girls and women of all ages scurrying around with baskets of fabric. Tables were set up and the older women sat at individual stations, each sewing different parts of clothing. I could tell right away that they had a sort of assembly line set up. Each table manufactured a single item, and the ones on this floor seemed to be mostly shirts. When one of the girls finished her job, she passed it on to the next person and started sewing the next shirt. "What floor are you on?" I asked Sarah.

"Oh, it changes all the time. Lately I've been on the second, making doilies. Let's go talk to the supervisor," Sarah said to me. She took my hand again and pulled me toward a desk I hadn't noticed earlier. A chart was tacked onto the wall, and I noticed that it listed all the worker's names and their check-in times. The supervisor looked up from her work and nodded curtly at Sarah. "Five minutes early," she intoned in a flat voice before making a note on her chart.

"Supervisor, this is a friend of mine who would like to work at the factory with me. I was wondering if she could work at a station next to me?" Sarah meekly asked.

The supervisor, a thin woman whose long face looked like a horse, pursed her lips. "It seems that you are fifteen minutes late," she said, making a correction on the chart next to Sarah's name. "What is the girl's name?"

"Jody Forrester," Sarah replied.

"She will be working at Station 19 on the second floor. Now get to work!"

I looked over at Sarah, raising my eyebrow in question, but she subtly shook her head and took my hand, tugging me towards the narrow set of rickety wooden stairs. "I made a deal with the supervisor to have you work in the station next to me," Sarah explained in a hushed voice once we were out of hearing.

"So what did you trade?"

Sarah smiled, but there wasn't anything sad about it. "She clocked me in as fifteen minutes late. Any time you come into work late, you have to stay after your shift for that much time. And you don't get paid for that time, either."

My face paled. "So you're doing unpaid work just so we can sit next to each other?" I asked, my voice weak.

Sarah noticed that I was upset and immediately patted my shoulder, which was the only affectionate thing she could do while holding her basket. "Don't worry about it, Jody," she said. "It's better that we sit together so I can explain how this particular factory works."

By this time, we had reached the top of the stairs. Sarah headed to a pair of older women sitting at a table with a pile of doilies in front of them. "We're here to replace you," she told them. The two women looked up at us and one of them, who looked like she was the same age as Esther, smiled.

"Thank you, dearies," she said. "My son's sick and I was hoping that you would come here early, Sarah."

Sarah smiled and gave the other woman a hug as she stood up, pushing the pile of doilies on to the next person. "Give John a kiss for me," she told the woman, who replied that she would as soon as she got home.

"You know her?" I asked once Sarah and I were left alone at the two stations.

Sarah shook her head. "Not really. We've just talked on our shift changes, and we've always been friendly."

"Are you not allowed to talk while working, or something?" I asked, looking around at the silent room.

Sarah shrugged and sat down, emptying her basket of doilies as she did so. "As long as the supervisors don't catch you," she replied. "But you never know when they're around, so usually we don't talk."

"Right." I sat down in my seat and looked at the workspace in front of me. I had a pile of doilies, a set of different size needles, and a spool of ivory thread. "Hm," I said to myself as I looked the doilies over, trying to figure out what I had to do.

Sarah looked over from the doily she was working on and raised her eyebrows. "Don't you know what to do?" she asked me.

I shook my head. "Not really," I said quite honestly.

Sarah put her doily down and picked up one of mine. She then showed me where on the doily I had to stitch, and once I felt like I understood her instructions I threaded my needle and got to work. The process was immensely tedious, and I was surprised by the amount of work that these women had put into their product. Sarah had even spent her free time at home making doilies for the factory.

The factory was extremely quiet. No one spoke, and the only sounds anyone made were occasional coughs or sneezes. The factory had a kind of reverberating white noise to it, made from the countless needles pushing their way through the fabric. At first I was uncomfortable in the chairs, and I constantly pricked my fingers on the needle, but I eventually found myself sewing to a short of rhythm. After that, everything seemed to get better. In, out, up, down, flip, knot, cut, and start all over again. It was simple. Boring, yes, but I was making money for the Jacobs family so I could put up with the monotony.

Occasionally a shrill whistle blew. I didn't know what it meant at first, since no one changed station or shift. But then I realized upon looking up at the right moment that there was a change in shift- but only in the supervisors. I hadn't noticed them earlier because they tended to hang around in the shadows of the room, watching the workers from a distance. But as I watched them from the corner of my eyes, I noticed that they did wander around the room. They never spoke to any of the workers, and they never spoke to each other. I didn't understand the point of them being here until one tapped me on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw that it was the same supervisor who had been at the desk when Sarah and I had first arrived. Sarah had put down her doily, and I did the same. We both turned to our supervisor, waiting for her to speak.

"There's been a change in stations," she said without any emotion. "I've kept both of you together, but starting tomorrow you'll be sewing skirts on the fourth floor."

Sarah didn't say anything to the supervisor, so I didn't either. We both turned back to our work, moving on to the next doily. But the supervisor didn't leave; she was leaning over my shoulder, studying my work. I could feel her breath on my neck, and I struggled not to cringe. Suddenly the supervisor picked up one of the doilies that I had put into my finished pile. She looked it over very carefully, feeling my stitches with her finger. "Perhaps it is a good thing you'll be doing a different station," she said before collecting my doilies. I watched her cross the room and drop my doilies into a box that had been mostly empty until my doilies had been placed in it. Beside me, Sarah was looking scared.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

"That's the discard box," Sarah whispered. "Only the unsellable products go there. Were you making the doilies like I showed you?"

I blushed, because after twenty minutes or so I had started taking short-cuts. "Of course," I lied.

Sarah shook her head. "You'll be getting a dock on your pay for the wasted materials. It's five cents per doily."

"That much?" I whispered loudly, looking at the discard box once again. The supervisor stood next to it, and I could see that she was counting how many of them I had messed up.

"I'll show you how to show a straight seam tonight," Sarah promised. "You just need a little practice, that's all. Don't be upset," she added when she saw my face. I felt terrible, because I had just cost the Jacobs's a lot of money. I was supposed to be helping them, but I was doing the exact opposite. I was a complete failure at the factory, and what made it worse was that the supervisor knew it. I could tell from her horse face and horse eyes that she hated me, and I had just given her reason to put me on her bad list.

"It's not that terrible," Sarah consoled me. "You'll get better, especially if I help you."

"When do we get off work?"

Sarah looked at one of the many clocks that were on the factory walls. "Four more hours," she told me. "It'll go by quickly, I promise."

Maybe the four hours did pass quickly for Sarah, but they definitely didn't pass quickly for me. It was one doily after another, and my fingers started to go numb from all the sewing. Luckily I had improved somewhat over the afternoon, and when the supervisor stopped by my station she only took about half of the doilies. It was still a lot of money, though, and the supervisor let me know how shameful it was by giving me a vicious glare. "Sorry," I mumbled to her meekly. The supervisor just stalked off, and then her shift must have ended because she left our floor. I was glad for the break from her constant watching, but the peace didn't last very long because Sarah and I finished our shift shortly thereafter.

When we went to clock out and collect our payments for the day, the supervisor wrinkled her nose at me. "Hopefully you'll be better tomorrow," she said snidely. Then she counted out the proper amount of money for Sarah and me. The coins were in two separate piles and of equal amounts. Then the supervisor started to count how much of my money went back to the factory for the ruined doilies. "Oh, dear me," she said with an exaggerated gasp, "It seems that you owe us more money than you have made!"

I exchanged a worried glance with Sarah, who smiled weakly in attempted support of me.

"Now, listen to me, girl," the supervisor said to me, her eyes suddenly cold and her tone sharp. "You have two options. One, stay and work another shift to pay off your debts. Or two, have your friend here pay the debts with her earnings. What will it be?"

Sarah answered before I could say anything. "Just take it out of my pay," she said.

The supervisor grumbled as she counted out the coins. I had the feeling that she wished I had stayed for another shift, because chances were I would have ruined even more doilies and ended up even more in debt. But Sarah was saving my skin, and even with my debt coming out of her money she still made a decent amount in terms of the 1901 inflation.

"And we're going to be on the fourth floor tomorrow?" Sarah asked the supervisor.

She grunted. "Stations 26 and 27. Now get lost, I need to check in these workers."

The supervisor didn't have to tell us twice. Holding the empty basket in one hand, Sarah took my arm and led me out of the factory. When we stepped out onto the street, I saw that it was just dusk. I didn't realize until then that we had spent the entire day at the factory. "And you do this every day?" I asked Sarah.

She looked at me oddly and nodded. "Yes, to support the family. Mama used to come too, but now she stays home to take care of Papa."

"And David went to school."

Sarah nodded. "Les, too."

"You didn't go to school?"

"Well, I did for a while. But you know how it is for girls; we can't go to public school once we reach a certain age. Unless you go to a boarding school or finishing school, of course. But those are so expensive, and, well, it's hard enough for us to make enough money as it is."

I felt like I was beginning to understand the circumstances that the Jacobs family was facing. Two of their financial supporters could no longer work, so the other two had started. But being a newsie isn't the best job for making a profit, even if it was extremely easy to become one. And now the Jacobs's had to take care of me, as well. I wasn't helping any matters by messing up at the factory, either. Hopefully Esther and Mayer wouldn't be angry with me. It wasn't really my fault since I've never really sewed before, but they wouldn't understand that girls don't sew in the future. It wasn't exactly something that I could tell them.

"What do we do now?" I asked Sarah, changing topics.

"We go home and help Mama prepare dinner."

When we got back to the apartment, Esther was already cooking soup. Mayer sat at the kitchen table, reading the day's newspaper. "How did your day at the factory go?" Esther asked me, looking up from the skinny carrots she was slicing.

I coughed. "It was alright," I said, shooting Sarah a desperate look.

"She made some mistakes with the doilies and had some put in the discard box, but we're changing stations to skirts for tomorrow," Sarah explained for me.

Esther gave me a sympathetic look. "Doilies can be hard, and your supervisor is very nasty. I don't know what's wrong with that woman. She always looks like—"

"She's eaten something with way too much garlic in it?" I interjected.

Esther laughed. "Yes, like she's eaten something with too much garlic. You're a very funny girl, Jody."

I smiled as I strode over to Esther, looking into the pot of soup. "I try," I said. "How can I help with dinner?"

Esther looked around. "Well, if you could slice an onion for me, I'd be really grateful. And Sarah, why don't you set the table? Ask Papa to move. He's been sitting there all day with his paper," she commanded.

Mayer grumbled in a joking manner as he got up, and Esther laughed. Seeing them together, so happy even though they were having a financial disaster, made me so happy. Very few families in the twenty-first century stayed together, but here close families were the norm. It was a refreshing change for once.

The soup was watered down heavily, but it still smelled like Campbell's chicken noodle. I didn't say anything when Esther stirred the soup and told me to add more water, because I could tell just by looking at it that there was enough for four people, but not for six. I added enough cups of water to serve eight, and when Esther came back to check the soup she rubbed my shoulder. "That looks really delicious," she praised me. "Go sit at the table with Sarah. I don't need any more help, and you've done enough work today."

Sarah took out some needles and thread, placing them on the table. A shirt with a hole in one of the seams was sitting on her lap inside-out. "Do you want me to show you how to sew a straight seam?" Sarah asked. "You'll need to know how to do this for tomorrow."

"Sure," I said in reply. I sat down at the table next to Sarah, and she held the shirt so I could see it.

"You always sew seams inside-out so that the stitches end up on the inside. See?"

"Uh-huh."

"There's two ways to do it. One is just to sew in, then out, just like that." Sarah poked the needle threw both sides of the hole, looping the thread around and then sewing the next stitch. Each time, the seam was tightened. "This is how we usually do it in the factory, because it uses the least amount of thread," Sarah explained. "But you have to sew the stitches really tight, or you'll just get holes. For you, though, I think the blanket stitch will be better. It uses more thread, but it will be better workmanship."

"How do I do that?"

Sarah held up the shirt again, pushing the needle through the seam. Then, when she had a loop in the thread, she put the needle through it before making the next stitch. The result was not only a stitch, but a piece of thread connecting the two stitches horizontally. "It makes a border on the seam, see?" Sarah said as she finished off the stitch. "Here, now you try."

I took the shirt from and tried both stitches. Like Sarah had predicted, my straight stitching was inconsistent but my blanket stitches were at least decent. "I think I can do this," I told Sarah happily. I wasn't as good at sewing as Sarah, but at least I was sewing! I was actually doing pretty well considering it was my first time.

Sarah giggled. "You'll do fine tomorrow, and the supervisor will be highly impressed by your improvement," Sarah vowed.

I was just finishing the seam on the shirt when the door to the apartment opened. Looking up, I saw that David and Les had finished selling their papers. Esther hugged both of her sons and kissed their foreheads, and as they entered the apartment I saw that Jack had come with them. I held my breath in surprise.

"Are you staying for dinner, Jack?" Esther asked, enveloping Jack into a hug as well. Mayer got up from the table and clasped Jack's hand with his good arm, smiling cheerily as he did so. Sarah, still sitting next to me, looked up at Jack and blushed.

"I wouldn't want to miss supper with my favorite family now, would I?" Jack said boisterously. He closed the apartment door behind him and strode over to the table, clapping David on the shoulder. David looked down at the shirt I was fixing and nodded politely.

"Thanks for mending my shirt," he said.

I looked up in surprise. "This is your shirt?" I asked. "Sarah was just teaching me how to sew a straight seam."

David looked like he was about to say something, but Jack beat him to it. "I see that Jody is still hangin' around. How are ya?"

I looked up at him and smiled, my cheeks slightly warm. Gosh, Jack was even more handsome than I remembered. His hair was slightly long, but it was a beautiful honey color. His eyes were dark brown and his complexion perfect. When he smiled, he dazzled me with his white teeth. No wonder Sarah had been blushing when she looked at him, too.

"I'm doing well, Jack. I actually wanted to thank you for last night."

Jack laughed and took the seat next to me, turning his body sideways so that he was facing me. "And I wanted to come to the Jacobs's tonight to see how you was doing," he replied somewhat suavely.

"How did you like the factory?" David asked me as he took a seat. Esther soon worked her way around the table, filling everyone's bowl with soup.

"It was an adventure," I replied carefully. I didn't want to say how I really felt- that I down-right hated it- because I didn't want to insult Sarah or Esther. But I didn't really want to go into the details of my failure, either.

David leaned forward expectantly. "Oh, it was? How so?" he asked me.

"I suck at making doilies," I mumbled underneath my breath.

"What was that, Jody? Sorry, I didn't understand you."

"I suck at making doilies," I repeated.

Both David and Jack laughed. I figured that David must have told Jack earlier today that I was going to the factory for the first time, as Jack seemed to understand the joke. "It's not funny," I said stiffly.

"I'm sure your doilies came out fine," Jack assured me.

I looked down at my bowl and stirred my soup, fiddling with the spoon. "Not exactly."

Esther, ever the peace maker, sighed. "Why don't you tell us all what happened, Jody, and then we can forget about it?" she suggested.

"Okay," I said, nodding. "Well, the supervisor hated me. She put my entire first batch of doilies into the discard box, and then she did the same with half of my second batch. It cost so much that part of my debt had to come out of Sarah's pay. I'm so sorry."

The entire table, which had been lively from the jokes about my lack of sewing skills, became completely silent. Sarah looked down at her lap and folded and refolded her napkin. Esther and Mayer shared a heavy look. Jack's smile still lingered, but it didn't quite reach the corner of his eyes anymore. David refused to meet my eyes. Les was the only one who seemed untouched by the bad news. "You'll get better at sewing!" he said optimistically.

I smiled sadly and playfully ruffled Les's hair. "Thanks, kid," I said. Then I looked back at David, who finally met my gaze. His blue eyes were distant, but they didn't seem harsh. Maybe he wasn't that mad about my failure after all. "I'm really sorry, it's not as if I did it on purpose. I'll do better tomorrow, especially since Sarah and I are doing skirts now."

"There's no need to worry about it, Jody," Mayer said, breaking the silence. "There's always tomorrow, and there's no sense in crying over spilt milk."

"So," I said slowly.

Everyone looked at me, puzzled.

"Massachusetts phrase," I explained, and everyone nodded as if they understood, which they did but only partly. "How did you guys do selling the papers?"

At once Jack livened up. "It was a great day!" he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands out wide. "For once the _World_ had a good headline. Did you see it, Mr. Jacobs?"

Mayer nodded. "I did. How many papers did you sell?"

David and Jack looked at each other, figuring their sales. "A hundred and sixty, I think. You sold all of yours, right, Davey?"

David nodded. "Yes, a hundred and sixty."

"Good work," Mayer praised. "How did the other boys do, Jack?"

Jack cocked his head, thinking. "I think they did alright. Crutchy said something about being short six papes, and I think Kid and Mush managed to sell everything they had. I didn't get a chance to talk to Race yet, since he went down to Sheepshead. Said something 'bout a hot tip on one of the horses."

"Is it a sure thing?" Esther asked, a note of worry in her voice.

Jack shrugged. "He said it was, but ya never know. I'll ask him tonight when he gets back to the Lodgin' House."

"I worry about all of you boys so much," Esther said. Mayer leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"You don't need to worry, Esther," he said.

"How many newsies live in the Lodging House?" I asked out of pure curiosity.

"About a hundred, I'd say," Jack said after a moment. "But there's about forty regular borders."

"And those are the boys you sell with?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah, I only sell with Davey and Les. But I'm the leader of the Manhattan newsies."

"What's it like, hawking the headlines?"

David coughed. "Jody, you shouldn't—"

"You don't want to sell papers on the streets, Jody," Mayer said to me. "I know you wanted to this morning, but you have a reputation to keep in mind. It might not be important now, but at some point you're going to marry and no one wants to marry a girl who spent her teenage years on the streets with a bunch of boys."

Both Sarah and I blushed, and David looked away.

"I didn't want to ask you last night, but is there a way we can reach your parents, Jody? They must be worried about you," Esther said after a pause. She was trying to restore the conversation to what it was before, but Mayer had cause an irrevocable change.

"I appreciate it, but there's no need. Both my parents are dead, my mom died when I was little and my dad died just recently from pneumonia," I quickly lied. "My cousin's family is huge, so my uncle sent me here to find a job. And thanks to Sarah, I have one."

Sarah smiled at me and shook her head. "It wasn't anything," she said. "Keeping it might be tough, especially since you got off on the wrong foot with the supervisor, but you'll be okay."

"Thanks, Sarah."

The conversation drifted off after that. Jack said his goodbyes, saying that he had to return to the Lodging House before nine or face paying a fine, and Les had already gone to bed a while ago. Sarah and I helped clear the table, while David and Mayer talked together in hushed voices.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," I said to the entire room. "It's been a long day."

Sarah put away the bowl she had been drying with a towel. "I'm right behind you, Jody," she said. Esther kissed us both on the forehead, and Mayer nodded to me before kissing his daughter goodnight.

Just as I was leaving the kitchen, David stood up and touched my elbow. I turned around, my eyes meeting his. "You're alright, aren't you?" he near whispered.

I arched my eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

David laughed shortly. "You crashed and burned at the factory today, and you got a short lecture from Papa about your reputation. You aren't upset at all?"

I shook my head. "No, of course not. But thanks for asking."

"See you in the morning, Jody."

"G'night, David."


	6. 14th of August, 1901

My observations from yesterday about the boring life Victorian women held were only the tip of the iceberg. There was no freedom at all. Our lives at home were ruled by the family— we had to make dinner, keep the family clothed, and clean the house. I mean, I did the same stuff for my family, but the Jacobs's took it to a whole new level. For one thing, only Sarah, Esther, and I cooked, cleaned, sewed, and did the laundry. In my house, that work was shared by both my parents. My dad even knew how to use the sewing machine, although usually he let us do the hems. He ironed, though, and I didn't ever see David or Mayer doing that.

And then there was the way the factory ruled Sarah and me. Or, rather, the way the supervisor ruled us. She was the bane of my existence. If she wasn't on the same shift as us, she found another supervisor to stare over my shoulder. But while the supervisor was intent on catching more of my errors, I was even more determined to do a good job. I was full of spite, and I applied myself to the sewing. For that reason, I quickly finished more skirts than Sarah and anyone else near our stations. The supervisor, of course, was skeptical of my newfound skill. Of course I wasn't talented enough to be making that many skirts; I had to be doing _something_ wrong. There's always _something._

"Let me see that skirt," the supervisor snapped at me, wrenching the fabric from my hands after she had looked through my pile of finished skirts, all which seemed to meet her standard.

I sat sullenly, watching her study my seam. _You won't find anything wrong with it, thanks to Sarah,_ I thought.

The supervisor clucked her tongue and waved the skirt in my face, shoving the seam near my nose. I looked at my stitches, my eyes going slightly cross-eyed. Beside me, Sarah nervously shifted in her seat. She didn't look up from her sewing, though.

"This is a complete waste!" the supervisor shrieked.

I flushed angrily and tried to take the skirt back from her, but Horse-Woman wouldn't let me take it. "It's a straight seam and the stitches are even," I replied evenly.

"Look at how much thread you've wasted!" I could feel the supervisor's stale breath on the back of my neck. "The seam may be straight, but it's still no good if you're using twice as much thread as everyone else in this factory! Did you use the blanket stitch on all of your skirts?"

She immediately sorted through my pile again, angrily throwing skirts to the floor as she counted how many I had used the blanket stitch on. "This is a disgrace! An outrage! I thought you were a bad worker yesterday, but I gave you a second chance. It seems that you don't understand how it works at the factory."

I leaned to the side, collecting the skirts from the floor and silently placing them back on my workstation. I didn't dignify the supervisor's remarks with an answer. What can I say, the woman was being a total beotch.

"Perhaps if I remove the cost of the extra thread from your salary, this extravagant wastefulness will end," the supervisor threatened.

Sarah cringed, and that's when I took the supervisor's words as a thrown gauntlet. She obviously didn't like me, and she was going out of her way to dock my pay. In turn, that docked Sarah's. I wasn't planning on a repeat performance— I could still remember the shocked and wearied faces on the Jacobs's during dinner last night. I wouldn't harm their finances so terribly again. Obviously I didn't belong here at the factory— not a surprisingly conclusion, considering that I'm a twenty-first century girl— so I would just give the women here a show and take Horse Woman down a peg while I was at it.

I stood up, and Sarah finally looked over, her face etched with worry. I ignored her gaze and instead turned to the supervisor.

"Wastefulness, you said? So I guess this company isn't concerned at all with quality— just quantity—" I said in a firm, loud voice. It was the voice that I had learned to use since fourth grade; it was the no-bullying voice, which became the typical teenage rebellion voice, which then became my debate voice for class discussions. And now, it was my I-mean-business voice.

The supervisor's eyes flashed dangerously. "This is a business, and we must make a certain amount of product to make a profit. Any accidents that place in the factory— like yours, I must say— will simply be removed from the perpetrator's salary as per the policies of this factory," she interrupted.

"I wasn't finished," I snarled. "In fact, I haven't even started. Why don't you take a seat—" and here I nudged my chair in her direction "—and listen to me for a second? Because, quite honestly, you supervisors don't listen to anyone but yourselves, and it's making me sick. It makes us all _sick_."

By now I had attracted the attention of not only Sarah, but of everyone who was on our floor of the factory. They watched the supervisor uncertainly, and I wasn't sure if they were supporting me or not. They probably weren't, since I was only doing this because I had nothing to lose. If everyone else was living like Sarah and her family, then they had a lot to lose.

"As I was saying, this factory and its supervisors like yourself ignore quality. And I'm not talking quality of the products, either. I'm talking about the quality of the employees. Because, really, what honest business would dock the pay of its workers, whose survival is based on that pay and nothing else? But you've taken away our power, our rights! When you don't pay us, we starve and we don't come into work. But this never bothers the factory, does it?

"No, of course it doesn't. Because you just hire some other person whose life depends on these salaries. And when they make mistakes, you don't pay them and they starve and you just go get someone else! We're nothing but wage slaves, and it's disgusting that you've managed to take away our rights for property and the pursuit of happiness. Look around— does anyone here look happy?"

The supervisor swallowed, but I kept talking. "I didn't think so. And I'm not going to subject myself to this treatment anymore. You can consider my employment prematurely ended."

A hush fell over the room as everyone waited for the supervisor's reaction. The silence in the room was stifling, and I suddenly found that I was having trouble breathing. But before I could start panicking, the supervisor cleared her throat with an 'ahem.'

"If you consider yourself so dependent on the salaries here, you can declare yourself dead of starvation already."

I chuckled emptilly, and Sarah narrowed her eyes at me. I smiled at her, but she just glared back. She was probably wondering what crazy game I was playing. "I've got another job lined up— and it's definitely better than this. Actually, even being a prostitute would be better than working here."

Everyone in the room gasped, and I took that as my cue to exit. I allowed myself to look at the supervisor, whose thin cheeks were red and whose eyes were hardened. And then I looked at Sarah, whose face was pale. I winked at her before turning tail, striding out the door, down the stairs, and onto the street.

The energy from quitting my job at the factory quickly dissappated. I was unsure of where to go, since I couldn't go back into the factory— not that I wanted to— and I didn't necessarily want to return to the Jacobs's apartment. It wasn't that I didn't want to go there; it was just that Sarah had several hours left at the factory, and I didn't want to worry Esther or Mayer by returning early. That left the question, of course, of where to go.

I settled on roaming this particular street of New York City. I walked up to the nearest street corner, turned around, and walked back to the other street corner. It was a fairly long block, so the exercise was good. But the second time I walked along the street, I was out of buildings and people to look at so I decided to walk around the corner. As long as I kept track of my turns, I would be able to find my way back to the factory. From there, I could find my way to the apartment.

As I walked, I found myself in a busier part of the city. More and more people were walking, and most of them were men dressed in three-piece suits with matching bowlers. All of them strode down the sidewalk at fast pace, and even though they looked immensely busy they took the time to doff their hats at me. I felt my self-esteem boost from that; at least in the nineteenth century the men knew how to treat a lady.

Looking around me, I noticed that several boys were shouting headlines from the different editions of the newspapers. Most of the boys were in groups of two or three, and I assumed that they were partners like Jack and David. Maybe if I walked around enough, I would find them! Although David would be furious at me for leaving the factory to work as a newsie. But it was my decision, not his, and there would be hell to pay if he or anyone else tried to boss me around. It may be the Victorian era, but I'm my own woman.

I passed a pair of such newsies on my right as I walked further down the street, hearing snippets of their conversation as I did so.

"Police suspect Brooklyn drowning not an accident!" one of them hollered. I noticed one man stop to buy a paper, but no one else did. The other newsie took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair.

"That isn't workin'," he said to his companion. "Don't know why, it did last time there was a drownin'."

"Aw, Blink, you know that it only worked last time because there was a woman that drowned. This is just about a kid dey found. Nobody cares about no kids."

Blink! Wasn't he one of the newsies that David and Jack had mentioned during dinner? I stopped, cocking my head as I looked at the two boys more closely. Blink was tall and blonde, and he had an eyepatch covering his right eye. The other boy, nameless, was a little bit shorter and had curly hair.

The two boys noticed my staring and the boy with curly hair winked at me, offering a paper. "Would ya like to buy a pape, miss?" he asked me politely. "I'll let you have a look at it first."

I took the paper from him and pretended to study the headlines on its front page before looking up. "I'm looking for some newsies," I said offhandly.

Blink looked at his companion nervously. "We don't like to turn each other in or nothin'," he warned me.

I shook my head. "It's not like that. See, I know David and Jack— those are the newsies I'm looking for—and during dinner last night they mentioned a newsie named Blink, who I heard was you just now—" I said quickly, explaining myself.

Both newsies nodded at the names I'd given them. "I'm Kid Blink," Blink said, "and this is my sellin' partner Mush. We know both David and Jack. Jack's our leader, and David— well, David was the Walkin' Mouth that did us a lot of good in da strike."

"A lot of good," Mush echoed. "Especially with Jack turnin' tra—" he began, but he stopped when Blink dug his elbow into his side.

"What do you want with dem?" Blink asked me.

"I'm living with David's family now, and I'm going to be working as a newsie. I was just out in the city this afternoon, and I figured I'd come find him, like see him in action and stuff."

Blink and Mush exchanged a look. "Not that we don't mind the girl newsies or nothin', but are you sure 'bout this?" Mush asked, his face tinged pink. "Nobody'll give you trouble, not if Jack tells 'em to lay off ya, but Davey…"

"Davey'll oppose it, I already figured that. But I don't care. If I want to sell papes, then I'm going to sell papes, dammit!" I exclaimed. Blink and Mush looked startled at my choice of words, but I seemed to have earned their approval because they nodded. Blink leaned over to Mush's ear and whispered to him, quiet enough that I only captured snippets of what he said.

"She's something… make it on… fine, Mush. Wouldn't wanna… on an off day."

"You'se right, Blink. Say, we don't know where Jack and Davey are exactly, Jody, but usually they head to the wrestling ring. Why don'tcha stay with us for the rest of the afternoon, and we'll take you to them when we meet back up at Newspaper Row?" Mush said, turning to me expectantly.

I smiled brightly and clapped Mush on the shoulder. He looked down at my hand, surprised that I had touched him. "Sounds like a great plan," I said. "Mind if I try my hand at selling?"

* * *

David glared at me, his jaw working angrily. "What are you doing selling newspapers, Jody?" he hissed at me. A large group of newsies surrounded us, watching the argument with interest. Off to my side, Blink and Mush hung their heads. David had already yelled at them for allowing me to sell with them today, and when he had turned his attention to me they had given me only apologetic glances before backing off. Jack stood behind David and kept his chocolate eyes trained on me. I allowed myself to pretend that he was supporting me, even though he was standing by David.

I looked David over carefully, narrowing my eyes at his clenched fists. My action wasn't unnoticed by him, as he forced his hands to relax. His face, though, was still tense and I could see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "I have a right to decide where I work. It is America, you know," I replied. I could have explained myself in a better, non-confrontational way, but I was annoyed with the way David had been treating me. I was nineteen, for Chrissakes! I could make my own decisions.

David, evidently, disagreed. "I'm aware of the fact that it's the United States," he snarled. "But you know that Papa specifically did not want you selling papers."

I lifted my chin. "And you know that I'm not part of your family. It's nice for your parents to have concern for my well-being and reputation, but I can direct my own life."

"God-dammit, Jody," David exclaimed, sweeping his newsie cap off his head and crumpling it in his hands. "It's more than your reputation. We care about you, Jody, and we don't want to see you get hurt. It's too dangerous for you!"

"So you'd rather have me keep messing up at the factory and costing you even more money? I don't think you even make enough money to cover my damages. But if you want me to keep it up, by all means send me back to the factory."

David closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not as bad as it looks, Jody. Sarah said you were improving."

I barked a short laugh, no humor at all in my tone. "Tell that to Horse-Woman. She's out to get me, I swear."

David didn't say anything, but Jack took advantage of the moment to intervene. "Jody, I know you wanted to be a newsie, but maybe you should listen to David. You should go back to the factory and sort things out with the supervisor. She can't be that bad."

So much for Jack being on my side, I thought miserably. Then I straightened my shoulders and looked directly into David's clear, blue eyes. He didn't make any indication that he recognized me. "Even if I wanted to go back to the factory, I couldn't," I told him.

David looked at Jack helplessly, who raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as he considered me words. "Why not?" he asked me.

"I, uh, quit. And said a few unforgettable things."

David sighed. "No chance of repairing the damage?"

"Nope."

"Papa's going to be furious," he warned me after a brief silence. "You can't let him know that you planned to quit in order to become a newsie. We'll just… improve the truth a little," he said, glancing at Jack, who chuckled quietly. "We'll make it sound like you just snapped, and that it couldn't be helped."

I tried to keep my excitement out of my voice as I exclaimed, "So you'll let me be a newsie?"

David ran a hand through his mass of curls, causing his hair to stick even more on end. "I don't see a choice," he admitted. "Whether I like it or not."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" I shouted, jumping towards David and pulling him into a hug. David stood stiffly for a moment, before raising his hands to my shoulder blades. The hug was stilted and awkward, although the newsies didn't seem to think so. One of them, a short Italian with a cigar hanging out his mouth, whistled.

"Look at that, boys!" he laughed. "Davey's got a girl, who'd have thunk it?"

Davey gently pushed me away from him, his face red. I thought for a minute that he was going to say something to the Italian, but he just stood there. Jack took command of the situation, shooting the boy a look. "You think you're so funny, Race," he said. "Must be because you'se just jealous."


End file.
